You Can't Tourniquet the Pain
by catchme21
Summary: On the 22nd anniversary of his wife's death, John wallows in misery just like every year before. He didn't think it could be any worse, then he receives the voicemail from Dean..."like Mom, Dad, just like Mom"...Pilot tag to a tag...only T for lang.


So a good friend of mine (who some of you may or may not recognize as mizpah) wrote a tag for the Pilot called 'Metamorphosis'. The title is a coincidence from the s4 episode, but she had this thing named long before Kripke brought us his. Anywho, she wrote a tag for that whole week at Stanford in between the time that the boys left the burning apartment until Sam was jolting awake in the car in episode 2, including everything from the funeral to them sifting through the burnt remains of Sam's shattered life. In typical mizpah fashion, she loaded the thing with angst, some bits of humor, and all around tear-jerking moments. I really recommend it to all of you. It can be found in two places:

- http://z14(dot)invisionfree(dot)com/Supernatural/index(dot)php?showtopic=38662

...or for those that don't have an account/don't want an account...

Supernaturalville -http://www(dot)supernaturalville(dot)net/viewstory(dot)php?sid=2325

(don't forget to replace the (dot)s)

Well, she wrote in a very good scene where Dean finally breaks down and leaves a voicemail for their father. I've always loved John's character, and think the poor man just didn't make very many good choices. So with her blessings, I wrote in the piece where John receives the voicemail. I hope you guys enjoy and I hope you check out mizpah's stuff. All of Dean's lines from the voicemail are the creation of mizpah so I take no credit for those. Nor do I for anyone else you recognize, I'm merely playing and will put them back when I'm done.

And thank you to mizpah for beta'ing this also, couldn't have stormed this up without you.

Enjoy!

-.-Supernatural-.-

_Somewhere in Utah_

"Mashed or baked?"

"What?"

The raven-haired waitress huffed impatiently. "Your potatoes, mashed or baked?"

"Sorry, baked."

A click of her pen and she was gone. Her patron shook his head in wonder at her customer service and ran a hand over his beard.

God it was time for a shave. He was starting to feel as grizzly as half the things he killed.

His hands dropped and he toyed with the gold band that still encircled his left ring finger. The anniversary of his beloved wife's death had passed two days ago, and just as every year before it he'd spent the hours in a drunken stupor, completely shutting out the world around him. He'd received word from Dean that the job in Jericho had been completed, and that was all he'd needed to know before he'd sunk into a dark corner of a dark truck stop. A place so dark not even Hell had seen the tears he'd shed.

The diner he'd found after finally emerging was deserted, dark, and no one looked at him twice. He lazily swirled the beer in his dirty mug, watching as the foam spun and sloshed. It had been a lonely few weeks, ever since he'd left Dean behind. But he'd done it for his son's own good; Dean was safer that way.

Or that's what he would keep telling himself.

The waitress came and dropped off his food, barely acknowledging him as she did. His fork was in descent toward the steaming plate when his phone began to dance across the table. Snatching it up, he grinned slightly when 'Pastor Jim' flashed across the small analog screen. The Pastor always called him at this time every year, making sure he was still alive after his alcohol induced coma.

The phone stilled as he pressed the ignore button, and moments later it pulsed with a new voicemail. Smiling again, he pressed a button on the side of the phone, shutting it off. His hangover was almost gone, and he was intent on enjoying this meal. Food first, lecture later; he could call the pastor back.

Dean flashed across his mind, and he almost felt bad for turning his phone off. He knew that once Dean was no longer occupied in Jericho he would be looking for his father. He was almost amazed his oldest hadn't already called him. _'I took care of the damn thing, now where the hell are you?'_ His son could be a formidable foe for any supernatural creature, but couldn't handle being on his own for more than a few weeks at a time.

It was another reason John had left his son behind. Sooner or later the boy would have to live and hunt on his own. While he did just fine periodically, Dean thrived on the fact that they would be meeting up again. That would have to change.

John had the feeling he wasn't getting out of this final battle alive. He was so close to the demon that had killed his Mary he could practically taste the slimy trail of sulphur the son of a bitch left behind. He also knew the odds of him surviving a battle with a demon that powerful. At this point, he didn't care. He would die a thousand times if that meant death for the demon. It also meant he knew Dean would have to continue on without him.

And then there was the whole deal with Sam that he had to stop. There was no way that spawn of Satan was getting close to his youngest. John had yet to find out what the demon wanted exactly, but he was close.

Not even wanting his thoughts to stray to that corner of his mind, he shook his head slightly and picked his fork back up. The steam had already vanished and his food was half cold.

Damnit.

-.-Supernatural-.-

His newest accommodations were less than appealing, but it was all he could afford at the moment. Throwing his bag onto the small, thin mattress, he sneered in disgust as a large cockroach skittered across the floor. He just needed a few hours of rest; he could suck it up. Even this dump was preferable to spending another night in the crowded cab of his truck.

Crossing the room in just a few steps, he began to empty the contents of his pockets onto the chipped plastic laminate table. Pulling out his small cell phone, he remembered his earlier missed call. Damn, he'd meant to eat then check the message as soon as he was done.

When he punched in his PIN, he was surprised to find he had three messages. The first one was dated a few days ago, the morning of Mary's anniversary.

_"Heya Johnny, Caleb here. I know it's been a few months, but it's been quiet across the board. You wanted to know when signs of demonic activity picked up, and I thought I should let you know there've been some signs in Palo Alto, California. Normally I wouldn't bother you with this because it kind of looks like it's small time stuff, and it's nothing more than a few electrical storms, but I remembered you said your kid was there. Anyway, give me a call back and let me know if I can help. Don't be a recluse you old bastard, call me."_

John sucked in a deep breath as the first message ended. Palo Alto…

Unheeding of the hunter's growing agitation, the voicemail announced the second message. It was from Jim, the one he had ignored.

_"Good afternoon John, its Jim. Please don't tell me you're still holed up in your truck somewhere, dying of alcohol poisoning. Get yourself cleaned up and call me, I have some new information for you."_

The third one actually wasn't a surprise; it was Dean, timed not long after the Pastor had called and he had shut his phone off. But the tone that Dean's voice held chilled John to his very core.

_"Dad – Dad, it's me. I'm in Palo Alto, and I'm with Sam. Dad…"_

There was a pause, and John's vision narrowed. Oh God, Sammy.

_"Oh, jeez, Dad – just – if you get this –Sammy's girlfriend, Jessica, she – she burned – on the ceiling of their apartment – like – like Mom, Dad – just like Mom…"_

Hearing Dean's muted sob following his admission, John felt his entire body go numb. Closing his eyes, he dropped his head as he listened to the rapid breathing in the recorded message. His boys…

_"I don't know if you'll even get this, but – Sammy – he's not – he won't eat, he hardly sleeps – when he does fall asleep, he wakes up screaming from the nightmares – I don't know how to help him – the funeral's in two days – Dad…just call me, or get here…"_

Another moment of silence and John could almost picture Dean as he tried to regain his composure, the tired way he used to rub at his eyes or how he would pinch the bridge of his nose. The mental picture caused John's heart to skip a beat as nausea rolled in his stomach.

_"I – I gotta get back to Sammy – in case he wakes up – I – we need you, Dad…"_

A mechanical voice came on the line and informed John that was the end of the message. Snapping the phone closed, the father of two slowly sank onto the stained floral bedspread. He gripped the edge of the bed in his fist, feeling the sudden urge to throw the phone against the opposite wall.

Losing track of time, the hunter sat in silence, rocking slowly as a barrage of thoughts dripping with guilt swam through his conscience. Caleb had fucking warned him, but he had been too busy mourning to even realize – or care. He had shut out the world, and had missed the signs himself. While his baby boy's life was being ripped apart, he'd been swimming in a sea of cheap whiskey, feeling so fucking sorry for himself that he couldn't be bothered to save the only thing that meant anything to him anymore. Dean and Sam were the reason he still breathed, and he had failed them.

With a hitched breath, he opened the phone and navigated to the missed calls section. Caleb had tried to call him at eight-thirty the morning of November 2nd. He'd already hauled ass halfway across Nevada by then, but he would have had plenty of time to make a u-turn. He had been so intent on reaching the middle of nowhere before the memories of that day had suffocated him that he hadn't even noticed he'd missed the call. Being swallowed by the past had clouded his ability to function in the present, and in doing so he had damned his future.

_So many failures, so little life left,_ a voice snickered at him. God, how many more times was he going to lose something precious to this demon? How many more ways could the bastard devastate his already exhausted family?

Backtracking, he pressed the speed dial for '1' and his thumb hovered over the 'Send' button. Dean's number looked so threatening on the little white screen, and John couldn't get himself to press the damn button. Snapping his phone closed again, he gave into the urge and threw the device across the room. Not watching to see where it landed, he made a dash for the bathroom as the earlier steak he'd consumed rose in a tidal wave of vomit.

Heaving until there was nothing left, he found himself wishing the gnawing in his gut would fade as quickly as the sickness had. Not even bothering to clean up the mess, John slowly weaved his way back to the bed. Old wounds were ripped open as stagnant feelings were revived. Dean was trying so hard to take care of his brother, but John knew from personal experience that Sam was on his own in his grief. Dean couldn't stitch up a shattered heart, and he sure as hell wouldn't be able to tourniquet the flood of pain.

Eyeing the bed again, John swallowed. He really needed to rest; he had a long drive ahead of him. With a sigh, he walked back over to the table and began to stuff his meager belongings back into his pockets. Scooping up his duffel, he collected his cell phone from the floor where it had landed and left the room without a backward glance. He knew sleep wasn't coming, and he didn't want to be alone in that room. The road was at least preferable to staring at a stained ceiling while his thoughts slowly tortured him to death.

Sirens wailed in the distance as John stalked across the parking lot. He figured by the sounds that someone else was having an equally crappy night. Reaching his truck, he checked his watch. It was only seven o'clock.

Throwing his bag in the back, he climbed in and fired the engine up. Stealing a bit of comfort and strength from the familiar rumble of the idling engine, he pulled out his cell phone as he threw the truck into drive.

"Hey Jim, its John."

_"Well there you are. I was wondering if I should start planning a search party."_

"No, I'm fine. Listen Jim, something's happened." Taking a deep breath, John gave a shortened version of Dean's message, concluding with Caleb's warning about the demon.

He could tell the pastor was thinking about his next words very carefully. _"You should go to California. Be with your children, John."_

"You know I can't do that." Pulling up to a red light, he studied the signs in front of him. I-80W would take him back to California, and I-80E would lead him farther away from his family.

The light flipped to green, but John couldn't force himself across the intersection. Jim continued to argue in his ear, listing all of the reasons why he was being unreasonable.

Shaking his head, he told Jim again, "I can't." Ignoring the frustrated sigh on the other end of the line, he crossed the intersection and climbed onto the onramp that would carry him east. "Now what did you have to tell me?"

-.-Supernatural-.-


End file.
